Deal With It
by MeGkAtHeRiNe
Summary: School rivalries got him a little worked up. And that wink she gave him? He was surprised he didn't lose it right there.


Hotch gave a pat to his son's butt to get him up the stairs before he turned around, rolling his eyes at the sight of his wife on the phone. She had been sitting on the couch and talking to her old college roommate for almost two straight hours, talking about the football games and old inside jokes they had had when they were just eighteen.

And he was sick of it.

He had to sit there with her and listen to her berate and criticize his school. She spoke about how badly they had beaten Harvard two out of the four years they played in their rival games, and because Hotch wasn't there because he had long graduated.

After she or her friend would say something bad about her rival school, she would send her husband a small wink or give a laugh, and Hotch had to clench his fists every time.

They both knew that when one gave the other a hard time about their colleges, there would be a stony silence throughout the dinner or the space in between them in the bed would grow bigger, both sleeping on the very edge of their sides.

But this time was different.

Hotch didn't know how to take out the anger in him, his chest tightening with rage every time he heard Emily's voice that night.

How was her conversation not done yet?

Walking back into the living room, Hotch waved his hand before the younger woman and pointed to the watch on his wrist. They were supposed to put Jack to bed almost thirty minutes ago, and he wouldn't go to bed without a kiss from his mommy.

Emily gave a quick nod. "Ok Julie, I'll call you back tomorrow. No, that's fine," she laughed, standing up from the couch. She frowned when she felt the stiffness in her legs, and she quickly stretched them out. "Of course. Ok, I'll talk to you later. Bye."

She threw her phone down on the couch and smiled to her husband, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his waist. "I'm sorry I got so distracted," she laughed. "But Julie says that she's coming down from New York and can't wait to meet you. My little Harvard boy," the thirty-nine year old teased.

"Great."

Emily's brow furrowed. "You ok?"

"I'm fine," he huffed, untangling her arms from his waist. "Let's go, Jack is waiting."

"Ok." The brunette walked up the stairs before her husband and led the way into the little boy's room, smiling wide to her son when she saw him sitting up in his racecar bed. "Hey there, bud. You ready for bed?"

Jack immediately got snuggled under his blankets. "Ready mommy!"

The brown eyed mother pressed a kiss to Jack's head, letting her husband do the same, before she turned on his nightlight and gave his cheek a small tickle. "You got to stay up a little longer tonight."

"It was so cool."

Emily gave a smirk before she and her husband made their way out of the bedroom, blowing a kiss to their son, before they walked into their own room.

Before he could even get himself to think about what he was doing, Hotch shoved the younger brunette against the closest wall.

"Aaron!" she gasped, her hands going straight to his chest as he pulled her to him.

"Do you get how annoying your squeaky little voice is when you talk to your college friends?" he sneered. "Like a yappy little dog who just tried to get on my nerves all day."

Emily watched as her husband's eyes darkened and her breath got caught in her throat.

He slammed her back against the wall, listening to her whimper as the pain shot through her shoulder. "Do you understand how annoyed I am with you right now?"

She saw the fire in his eyes, and before the brunette could decipher just what was going through her husband's mind, she was taken into a kiss by the older man.

"You don't get it," he growled, his large hand wrapping around her neck and keeping her still once he pulled away. "You don't seem to understand how enraged I am when you do those things." Leaning in, Hotch's eyes bore into those of his wife. "I'll make you understand."

Emily didn't even have the time to let her jaw drop as her top was ripped to shreds, her husband's hand reaching down her pants and quickly working her into a frenzy.

He watched as her eyes grew wide, and he turned them both around before throwing her on the bed. "You and your precious Yale."

The brunette woman let him kiss her senseless before she moved her head to the side. "What about you?" she breathed, barely registering the lifting of her hips so Hotch could strip her of her pants. "Your buddies from Harvard contact you all the time and I never say anything about it."

"I never make comments."

Emily scoffed, stripping her husband of his shirt just as he had done her, buttons flying everywhere. "They may not be as frequent as mine, but they sure do come up. Went to the second highest ranked school in the world," the mother mimicked as Hotch cupped her through her underwear, and she had to hold back a gasp.

"We're second and you're eighth," he laughed, pushing her down hard against the mattress before climbing on top of her. "Don't blame me when you can't stand up to us."

The brunette grabbed onto the older man's shoulders as he slipped two thick fingers into her.

Hotch bit down into the skin on her collarbone as he thrust into her, moving her delicate body up the bed. "We have forty majors," the father grunted.

"Seventy-five," Emily hissed, her head falling back against the pillows. She spread her legs wider to give herself more room, her hand reaching down and massaging her husband through his boxers. "Twenty-five Nobel Prize winners, too."

"Forty-seven," the older man challenged.

Emily moaned, feeling the father of one pull out of her to rid himself of the boxers she had bought for him for his last father's day.

"Forty-seven Pulitzer Prize winners," came the next taunt, his teeth sinking into the swell of Emily's left breast as he thrust inside of her without warning.

"God!" The younger brunette gripped at the man above her, her nails digging into his back as he almost tore her from the inside out. "Fifty-six of those," she breathed heavily, feeling Hotch speed up his thrusts.

Hotch leaned his forehead against his wife's, his eyes staring hard into hers. "You feel that?"

The brown eyed woman could only whimper in response, her breasts bouncing as the FBI agent who gripped her hips practically began bruising her with how hard he was thrusting. "Aaron," she gasped, her breath catching as her husband slapped at her clit.

"Better dining halls."

"Greek life," the ivory woman grunted.

Pushing his wife's body harder into the bed, Hotch let his face fall into the crook of her neck. "More applicants."

"Better acceptance rate." Emily bit down hard into her bottom lip as she felt her stomach grow hot. "And more offers to applicants."

"More incoming freshman," he said through grit teeth.

"Number four in Forbes."

Hotch gripped his wife's body harder, and he was sure he was leaving bruises. "Number two in the national rank."

Emily's hands pressed up against the older man's chest as she tried to keep herself from falling over the edge too quickly, but she quickly felt herself losing that battle.

"John Harvard," he sighed, thinking of the only thing he could to describe the pride of his old school. The mascot.

"Bulldogs!" Emily came with a scream as her head slammed back against the headboard of the bed she shared with her husband, her sweating body immediately sticking to Hotch's as he fell down on top of her. "Babe?" she whispered hoarsely, giving herself a minute to take a breath before she craned her neck to look into those dark brown eyes. "Is this going to happen every time I talk to Julie?"

"Or anyone else from your college," Hotch agreed.

The mother of one grinned before snuggling into her husband's arms. "Good."


End file.
